


knight in shining corduroy

by xxrisque



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming of Age, First Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2341109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxrisque/pseuds/xxrisque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac is not one to hide away his emotions. He is as free with his love and his affections as he is with his words and his passion. Which is fine, really, until he realises he’s in love with Combeferre.</p>
            </blockquote>





	knight in shining corduroy

**Author's Note:**

> this started life as being based on _'declares love so often that they’re not taken seriously but can’t say it when they actually do fall for them’ au_ except it spiralled massively out of control

Courfeyrac is not one to hide away his emotions. He is as free with his love and his affections as he is with his words and his passion. Which is fine, really, until he realises he’s in love with Combeferre.

He’s loved Combeferre in one way or another for as long as they’ve known each other, after they met when Courfeyrac was three and crying because there was a moth on his shoulder and Combeferre, all of six years old, had been his knight in khaki shorts and scared it off. That was the first time he said I love you, when Combeferre was standing opposite him with dirty knees and a moth in the middle of his palm that suddenly didn’t seem quite so big and scary. He’d blushed up to his ears and fumbled with his glasses, and Courfeyrac had giggled and asked if he wanted to play together.

The next I love you comes when Combeferre turns ten and Courfeyrac comes to his birthday party, even though he has older, cooler friends he could’ve invited in his place. Courfeyrac hugs him tight around the waist and Combeferre laughs because he’s used to it, burying his nose in his friend’s wild curls. Courfeyrac mumbles it into his shoulder, because he doesn’t want to embarrass Combeferre in front of his friends. Combeferre doesn’t seem to care, and scoops him up easily and says it back.

When Combeferre turns eleven and leaves for secondary school, Courfeyrac cries. It’s not something he’s proud of, looking back, especially considering he had plenty of other friends and he’d be going to the same school as Combeferre in three years time. But Combeferre had cuddled him anyway, and they’d hidden under his duvet with a torch and told each other scary stories until they fell asleep. When they woke up in a heap the next morning, they exchanged I love yous and tight hugs and reassurances that nothing would change.

Courfeyrac moves to Combeferre’s secondary school when he’s eleven, like he knew he would, and they walk to school together even though Courfeyrac knows Combeferre has new, probably better friends now. Combeferre talks a mile a minute about big scary exams and showing Courfeyrac around the school and how much he’s going to like it here. Courfeyrac is content to listen and bounce along next to him, hands knotted in the straps of his backpack. Combeferre makes a habit of walking him to his classroom, and in turn, Courfeyrac makes a habit of kissing his cheek and uttering a quiet _love you_ as he leaves. If people talk, then Courfeyrac doesn’t hear them.

Courfeyrac is given his first mobile phone for his twelfth birthday. Combeferre already has one, being three years older, so they text when they’re not together. Some mornings Courfeyrac wakes up to a simple _morning love :) xxx_ and it’s enough to make him smile until lunchtime.

When he’s thirteen, Courfeyrac auditions for the school production. He gets a lead, which is unusual, but he doesn’t tell Combeferre at first. Combeferre is sixteen now, after all, and he’s deep in the throes of his GCSEs and he certainly doesn’t need Courfeyrac to distract him. But inevitably, Combeferre finds out (but only because Courfeyrac’s sister is a traitorous witch who can’t keep her mouth shut and Courfeyrac is never telling her anything _again_ ) and gets mad.

“I’m sorry, I just thought- you’re busy a lot now, and I didn’t want to distract you,” Courfeyrac admits sheepishly, kicking his feet off the side of the stage. Combeferre had come to find him at rehearsals.

“You don’t distract me, you idiot,” Combeferre rolls his eyes, scooping Courfeyrac off the stage and dropping him unceremoniously. “I like having you around. I love you, after all.”

Courfeyrac laughs wetly, and Combeferre hugs him so tightly it’s hard to breathe.

Combeferre leaves for university across the country when Courfeyrac is fifteen. It’s hard. No one ever told him it would be this hard. Combeferre doesn’t always answer texts, and when he does it’s sporadic and clumsy at best, like Courfeyrac is an afterthought. He cries about it, one night after he hasn’t heard from Combeferre in two whole weeks, and Marius finds him. He tries to explain, really he does, but Marius’s girlfriend lives across the street from him and even though he isn’t Combeferre’s _boyfriend_ or anything it hurts more than he can verbalise and more than Marius can hope to understand. Marius pats him on the back, brings him a mug of hot cocoa like Combeferre used to make him and leaves him be.

He falls asleep face first in a pillow, and wakes up to his phone vibrating furiously in his ear. He answers without looking, and is surprised to hear Combeferre at the other end.

“Hey, sorry it’s been a while,” Combeferre says sheepishly, his voice rough. “Work caught up with me.”

“It’s okay,” Courfeyrac replies, hoping his voice doesn’t sound wet and like he’s been crying.

“Is everything alright? You sound upset.”

“Yes?” Courfeyrac continues, voice wavering even more.

“Courf,” Combeferre sounds stern, and Courfeyrac breaks.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sniffling pathetically and wiping furiously at his eyes. “I just –I miss you and you weren’t answering any of my texts and I thought you’d forgotten about me. Which would be fine, you’re at uni now and I’m just a stupid kid but-”

“Courf,” Combeferre’s voice is thick with sadness. “I love you. I wouldn’t forget you like that. I’ve just been busy. I’ve been planning a trip back home to see you for your birthday, actually.”

“Oh,” Courfeyrac suddenly feels very, very stupid. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I love you too.”

Combeferre only laughs affectionately at him, and then spirals off into a rant about his university’s debating society.

Combeferre is true to his word and arrives on Courfeyrac’s sixteenth birthday, and Courfeyrac meets him at the station and hugs him so fiercely it’s hard for them both to breathe. Combeferre just smiles and kisses his forehead and tells him he loves him.

Courfeyrac himself goes to university a few years later, and Combeferre, having graduated for the first time by now, helps him move. He has, not coincidentally, chosen the same university that Combeferre is studying his Masters at, so they spend the first few weeks exploring the city together and posting obnoxious photographs in front of the landmarks all over Facebook. Courfeyrac changes his profile picture to a particular favourite of his; Combeferre peering over the top of Courfeyrac’s head as they stand in front of the cathedral in the middle of the city centre.

It’s at university that they meet Enjolras, leader of a rather angry youth group where they fall into place. Combeferre introduces him with the words ‘this is Courfeyrac, he’s a first year, I love him’ and that is that. Joly, one of the other first years, elbows him in the side playfully and Courfeyrac fights against the blush flushing the top of already dark cheeks.

They’re all sitting in the same café two years after graduation, the day before Combeferre’s twenty-seventh birthday, and Courfeyrac is quietly watching the other man bicker with Bahorel at the other side of the bar.

“Can I ask you something?” Grantaire asks, sidling up beside him. Courfeyrac startles and turns to them.

“Go ahead,” he shrugs. “But buy me a beer first.”

Grantaire dutifully presents him with a Heineken a few minutes later.

“How long have you been in love with him?”

“With who?” Courfeyrac frowns, because he’s not in love with anyone, is he?

“You know exactly who I mean,” Grantaire huffs out a laugh. “Combeferre. You’ve known each other what, twenty years now? I reckon it must be at least ten years.”

“I don’t- I don’t love him. Not like that,” Courfeyrac protests weakly.

He thinks fleetingly of moths in hands and hugs at train stations and cold nights cuddled up with cocoa.

“Right, and I’m not in love with Enjolras.”

“Even if I was, it wouldn’t matter –he doesn’t love me that way, he’s made that perfectly clear over the last twenty years.”

“That’s total shit,” Enjolras snips from nowhere, and Courfeyrac wheels around to gape at em. “Don’t even pretend that it’s not.”

The three of them look up the bar at the man, who’s now waving his arms exasperatedly as Bahorel bangs his fists on the table.

“I know he says he loves me a lot, but there’s a difference between platonic love and romantic love. I’m not about to force him to feel one when he clearly feels the other.”

Enjolras rolls eir eyes.

“You’re as bad as he is, I swear,” ey snorts. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“You told me red chinos went with green plaid, once,” Grantaire pipes up.

“Shut up, you.”

“No, you haven’t, but this is a big deal, not a wardrobe crisis.” Courfeyrac sighs. “I live with him. We’ve been friends for all of our lives, nearly. I don’t want to –I daren’t-”

“Trust me.” Enjolras says with a fond smile, tousling a hand in Courfeyrac’s hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Please.”

Courfeyrac walks home with Combeferre, as is the usual, but when they make it home and part in the hallway, Courfeyrac hesitates.

“Hey, Combeferre,” he says, leaning on his bedroom doorframe.

“Yeah?” The other man replies, ducking back out of his room to study Courfeyrac’s face.

“It’s midnight. Happy birthday.” Courfeyrac smiles weakly.

“Thanks,” Combeferre replies, his voice soft.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No, I-” Courfeyrac starts, then stops. Combeferre frowns at him. “I really love you. I’m not sure I know how to love anyone else the way I love you.”

“That’s good,” Combeferre replies with a small nod, stepping forward out of his room. “Because I really love you too. And I know I don’t know how to love anyone else.”

Courfeyrac laughs, because if he doesn’t he’ll start crying, and wraps his arms around Combeferre’s neck to bring him in for a slow, tender kiss.

“How long?” Courfeyrac asks breathlessly when they break apart a few minutes later.

“There was a three year old boy in the playground at school crying because he couldn’t get a bug to leave him alone. I moved it for him, and he smiled at me and it was like looking into the sun. He shone so brightly and I loved him so much. I love _you_ so much.”

Courfeyrac giggles through his tears and pulls Combeferre back for another desperate, wet kiss.

“Funny you should say that,” he says, kiss-swollen lips curving into a tiny smile. “Because I remember I fell in love with this boy wearing an argyle sweater even though it was June, and he had skinned knees and big glasses but he saved me from a big scary insect so I loved him all the same.”

Combeferre smiles, and kisses him quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a [tumblr](http://badlydressedbahorel.tumblr.com/), say hi!


End file.
